


there is very little left of me(and it's never coming back)

by academmia



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: (only because i speedran this), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Trauma, a bit of violence description, after today's heartbreaking stream, hurt with like 2 seconds of comfort, no beta we die like wilbur soot, sam is complicated, villian wilbur soot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/academmia/pseuds/academmia
Summary: “Could you stop that?” Dream snapped.“No,” Tommy snarled, “No I don’t think I will,”Tommy tapped the wall harder. Dream might have all of the control-Tommy was resigned to that. He knew that Dream’s secrets were stronger than he was, he wasn’t naive. But he could still make Dream angry. Show Dream, shows Wilbur, he wasn’t completely beaten down. (Even if every time he closed his eyes he could feel Dream hitting and hitting until everything felt like it was on fire)“That’s it,” Dream said. Tommy braces himself for the hit. It doesn’t come. Instead, Dream says, “I’m getting Sam, I can’t fucking take this anymore,”OR: after Dream brings Tommy back to life, Tommy finally gets to leave Pandora's box. It's not the happy ending Sam hoped it would be
Relationships: Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Comments: 17
Kudos: 203





	there is very little left of me(and it's never coming back)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one sitting, this stream broke me and I decided to write one of the angstiest things I've ever written YEEHAW.

Things are quiet in the prison now. Dream talks sometimes, monologues about evil this evil that, Tommy tunes it all. It’s all futile, it’s all pointless. 

Living means the claustrophobic obsidian walls of the Pandora’s Box and Death means going back to Wilbur and his stupid cards. Tommy just wants a fucking break. He was so close to freedom-so close to healing. He hates himself for walking into the prison. He could have done a million different things instead. He could have kept walking past the prison to Snowchester, and he could have sat in Tubbo’s lab while his best friend tinkered with his projects. He could have stood, fallen to his knees, and enjoyed the sky. Tommy hated that the sky was something he couldn’t take for granted anymore. 

He was so tired. Once he dreamed about recovery. ABout going to therapy in Puffy’s office, bumping his knees together as she spoke to him in a soft voice no matter how frustrated he got. Stealing Sam’s trident and flying just for the hell of it. Finally getting to apologize to Techno and fix things with Niki. Be a teenager, laugh, and do stupid pranks that wouldn’t result in another war. Be bored and mundane. 

Tommy tapped his fingers against the cell wall. He wanted to laugh. That was never going to happen. 

“Could you stop that?” Dream snapped. 

“No,” Tommy snarled, “No I don’t think I will,” 

Tommy tapped the wall harder. Dream might have all of the control-Tommy was resigned to that. He knew that Dream’s secrets were stronger than he was, he wasn’t naive. But he could still make Dream angry. Show Dream, shows Wilbur, he wasn’t completely beaten down. (Even if every time he closed his eyes he could feel Dream hitting and hitting until everything felt like it was on fire) 

“That’s it,” Dream said. Tommy braces himself for the hit. It doesn’t come. Instead, Dream says, “I’m getting Sam, I can’t fucking take this anymore,” 

Months ago, before Dream killed him Tommy would have cried tears of joy. Weeks ago, when Tommy was stuck listening to Wilbur’s monologue for hours, he would have leaped for freedom. Today, Tommy only nods. Freedom isn’t something tangible anymore. He just moves from cage to cage. Even if he gets out of here, Wilbur and Dream will be back tomorrow. 

“Ok,” 

Dream stared at him, “Aren’t you excited?” 

Tommy just shrugged. 

He closed his eyes. Tried to breathe. His hands shook anyway. He could hear something, something other than Dream’s voice. He heard lava falling faster. Tommy snapped his eyes open. Pulled himself shakily to his feet. 

He could see him. He could see Sam. His green eyes stood in sharp contrast to the red hot lava. His trident was blue, Tommy forgot what blue looked like. His mask cover is mouth but Tommy didn’t need to see his face because when he caught Sam’s eyes he had to take a step back from the sheer amount of emotion in them. 

“Holy shit,” Sam said, the floating platform getting closer, “Holy shit, Tommy-” 

“Sam?” Tommy said, cracked and broken. 

He thought he didn’t care. He hoped he didn’t care because caring was torture but he did. Oh, he did, watching Sam’s eyes, filled with something that looked like love and concern and guilt, that Tommy had missed. It made him want to believe in hope. In warm fires and sunny days, he didn’t remember anymore. Sam was dangerous. 

The platform hit the cell and within seconds big strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. Tommy waited for the pain, waited for it to hit him, and then he realized he was being hugged. How fucked up was that- he didn’t remember what a hug felt like. He didn’t know what to do with his arms, and it made him sad. He was so sad, and he didn’t know if the hot tears were from the relief of seeing Tommy or the grief tearing him apart. 

Probably both. 

Tommy tuned out after that. 

He heard Dream say something and he flinched when he heard Sam yell something back. The ooze of lava-filled his ears. A strong hand rested on his shoulder and Tommy let it ground him. A few minutes later, someone nudged him forward. Into a new hallway. Tommy blinked. He couldn’t believe it, it had to be fake, another trick set up by Dream or Wilbur or maybe even Schlatt. 

“Dream?” He called. His voice echoed through the hallway. 

Sam frowned, “Dream’s not here Tommy,” 

“Oh,” Tommy said dumbly, “Ok,” 

“Tommy,” Sam said, “Can you look at me?” 

Tommy looked up to Sam. There he was, staring at Tommy with eyes filled with emotions that made Tommy want to look away. 

“I am so sorry,” Sam said, voice cracking, “I am so sorry for leaving you in that prison with Dream, it’s all my fault that you died, I left you in a cell with your abuser for over a week, I put the prison above you. I’m so fucking sorry for letting that monster kill you. I know I betrayed you, I know it’s unforgivable but Tommy I just wanted you to know that okay,” 

Tears are running down Sam’s cheeks. There are bags under his eyes. His trident clatters to the floor; his hand is shaking too much to keep a steady grip. 

Sam doesn’t shake. Sam doesn’t cry. Sam doesn’t say things with a broken voice and Sam shouldn’t look so sad. Even if on some nights Tommy thinks about how he screamed for Sam. He screamed for Sam, as Dream hit him, as he heard his nose crack. He screamed for Sam as the blood dripped down his face and he was met with deafening silence. 

He doesn’t tell Sam any of that though. He doesn’t think Sam could take it. He doesn’t have the energy to be angry anymore. He doesn’t have the energy for much of anything. 

“It’s okay Sam,” Tommy says, defeated, “I know what I signed.” 

Sam doesn’t say anything. Maybe he knows there is nothing to say that could possibly fix something like this. 

They keep walking. Sam starts to talk about his day. He hung out with Punk and went to therapy with Puffy. Sam ate cake for breakfast just because he felt like it. 

Tommy wonders what cake tastes like. He forgot. He wonders how Puffy’s doing, how Ponk is. Sam’s words make him feel a bit lighter. Like the real world is there, because Tommy is still convinced that if he makes it out of the prison he’ll be back in nothingness, and Wilbur will give him a poisoned smile. 

Sam’s chatter fills his ears. Tommy realizes that the sound coming from the cell, the creepy one that made his skin crawl is quiet. 

“Here we are,” Sam says, “The final portal,” 

Tommy looks up at it. He forgot what purple looked like, and it’s pretty. The portal hums and swirls, all different shades of purple blending together into a once familiar haze of magic. It looms over him. Tommy feels his hands shake. 

“You ready?” Sam asks. 

“I think so,” Tommy says, “But um...could you uh?” 

“Anything you need.” 

Tommy takes a shaky breath. He wants freedom, even just the illusion of it. But walking out into worlds where black isn’t the only color scares him. And just this once, he wants someone to hold his hand. 

“Could you hold my hand as we go through?” 

“Of course,” Sam says. 

Sam’s hand takes his. Tommy relaxes slightly. Sam’s hand is rough and almost twice the size of Tommy’s. It’s warm, unlike the chill of the dead. Tommy takes a step forward, into the world of the living and Sam follows. 

Magic fills his senses, it’s new and bright and it makes the hair on his arm stick straight up in a way that gravity wouldn’t like. It’s wild and unreal and Tommy lets it consume him. 

Something tugs him forward and Tommy leaves the foreignness of the portal. In front of him is something even newer. 

He lets go of Sam’s hand. There it is, ten feet in front of him. Tommy isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore. There it is, he can see it, ground full of bright green grass and a sky full of shining stars. 

Tommy runs. His body yells at him for running, but Tommy doesn’t care. He wants a second to see it, to believe it before it gets yanked away again. He sprints out of the prison and lets himself fall. 

When he hits the ground it isn’t hard rock-no no this is grass. Tommy laughs and cries, running his fingers through it. It’s flexible and it breaks when he pulls at it. It tickles his face and makes his ankles itchesThere’s so much of it, threads and threads. Each of them is different. Out here there are so many new things. It’s too much and Tommy has no problem with that. There was nothing new in the afterlife, nothing new in the box. Too many new sensations is a problem Tommy is so grateful to have. 

He flips over, laying down to look at the sky. It’s all he can see, stars and pitch-black stretching from each end of his vision. The stars shine bright, and Tommy feels gloriously small. Some look closer than others and some seem far enough that Tommy could run for the rest of his life and never reach them. The sky is vast and endless and it is so so full. It is full of light and darkness. It is not empty. It cannot be tamed. 

The sky and the grass are not toys dream gets to play with. The sky and the grass belong to themselves. The stars will live longer than any of them. The stars will outlive everyone, even Dream. 

The stars don’t give a fuck about him. The stars couldn’t give a shit. The stars don’t see his potential, the stars don’t want to experiment with him, the stars don’t give him attention. 

Big bursting sobs come out of his throat. All the feelings he’s been bottling up are flooding out of him, coming out of his eyes and his mouth. He screams and he yells and it doesn’t echo. It doesn’t echo because Tommy is free and he is alive. There is no ceiling, there are no walls, and he is so incredibly broken. He shakes and he shatters. He fists the grass in his hands and he chokes on air. For the first time in years, he grieves. He grieves for the child he was, the carefree teenager who never gave up the fight, the friend, the soldier, the brother. 

Tommy has gotten through an uncountable amount of bad days. He doesn’t know how to go through anymore. He doesn’t know how to live with this trauma and he knows he’ll only get more if he dies. He looks back up at the sky through blurry eyes. Being Tommyinnit is a lonely existence, he thinks. No one will ever understand what he goes through and it makes his chest burn. 

“It’s okay,” He hears Sam say. Tommy laughs. It’s a little bit funny. 

“You’re free, Tommy,” Sam says, “You’re never going back in there,” 

Tommy laughs even harder, “I’m never going to be free. Soon Dream’s going to bring back Wilbur. I begged him not to but he’s going to bring back Wilbur. And then he’s going to break Dream out of prison and he’s going to find me and he’s going to burn this place to the ground and then…” 

“And then what?” Sam asks

“And then he’s going to make fucking s’mores,” 

**Author's Note:**

> i am tired. this is not proof read. I should be doing homework. I have so many feelings. AH H H H HH H 
> 
> comments rock my world :]


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